


All Rivers Lead to the Sea

by Angel_ite



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: AU, Other, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-01-16 09:03:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18518242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angel_ite/pseuds/Angel_ite
Summary: An alternate reality where Kirin never committed the crime that got him kicked out of the Academy. Having been raised by Sokolov since he was sixteen, he is now the Royal Physician and spends his time between inventing for Emily Kaldwin and taking on apprentices. Though you applied to become one of his pupils, you are instead taken under the wing of Anton Sokolov despite his retirement several years prior. Despite not working directly under Jindosh, you find yourself learning quite a bit from him as time goes on.





	1. Chapter 1

It’s raining again in Dunwall; the streets were like rivers and the sound of the water draining into the sewers was oddly comforting. You are already soaked through your overcoat and you feel like kicking yourself for packing your umbrella. The three suitcases surround you at both sides and behind like a barricade constructed of tattered leather and metal. Anton Sokolov stands next to you, holding his own umbrella which he had politely offered to share. He’s much older than you expected him to be; his correspondence letters were always so lively and ecstatic. But though the old man lacks excitement, you nearly brim with it.  
“I hope I won’t be in your way,” you say after a thirty minute stretch of silence. “I don’t have any family that live in the area or I would just commute back and forth—,”  
“Nonsense,” Sokolov grunts. He reaches a wrinkled hand out and checks his wrist watch. “All my old apprentices had room and board taken care of. Now hush up, I won’t hear any more of your worrying.”  
You hide a grin. He is a fun old man, even if he’s several colors of gray.  
The carriage can be heard in the distance and the guardsman at the depot moves his position so that he can open the door when it arrives. He is positively drenched and his cap drips with water on all sides, sitting atop his head like a wet paper sack. As the carriage arrives, another guardsman helps you with your luggage. Everyone sort of sways back and forth patiently as Anton Sokolov heaves himself into the carriage. His hands grip the sides with great intensity but he has difficulty lifting his thin, boney legs into the carriage. One of the guardsmen moves to help, but the old man grumbles incoherently and swats his hand away.  
Moments later, you’re shielding your eyes from the powerful wind and rain as the carriage sends the two of you over Dunwall—toward the castle. Sokolov is huddled down in the seat, gripping the handle of his umbrella like a cane. He glances up at you, squinting against the onslaught, and gives you an apologetic shrug. Over the roar, he shouts, “Picked a nasty day, didn’t I!”  
You’ve only ever seen the outside of the palace in glimpses of white, bleached stone and the fluttering tails of the blue and gold banners. It seemed fathomless from the ground but nothing could have prepared you for standing next to it, just by the front entrance. The carriage is met by two attendants and what you presumed to be an apprentice such as yourself.  
Anton recognized and greeted him and the two began speaking back and forth as the luggage was carried inside.  
“Finally think I’ve got it,” said the young man with a grin on his face. He couldn’t have been older than twenty five. “I’d like you to review my final notes.”  
Anton deflected, “I can’t wait for your actual tutor to return from his sabbatical. He was supposed to be back last week, the scoundrel. I’ve not the time nor the energy to babysit his multitude of students.”  
The boy appears visibly discouraged and Anton seems to feel a surge of regret. He quickly corrects himself, “Give me thirty minutes Mathew and I’ll be in the lab. This is my newest apprentice. They’ll be starting their own research this week.”  
You introduce yourself quickly, eager to get out of the rain. As they were talking about their work, they seemed to have forgotten the weather entirely. At last, Anton begins to waddle toward the entrance. “Have we heard back from the Royal Physician?” he seems to scoff at the title, though it is with fondness.  
“No sir,” says Mathew who goes to open the door. “He’s due back from Serkonos soon, but he hasn’t written since the ship departed. The rest of his pupils and I are starting to get a little worried—he’s never missed our monthly critique and swore he’d be back on time!”  
Mathew swings open the doors and you shuffle in behind Sokolov, all at once captivated by the grand, tall entrance hall. The tall doric columns are adorned at the bottom with large vases of various purple flowers and the carpet is a royal blue with gold threading. The windows are as tall as the walls themselves, towering up into the dome-like rafters. You stand and stare for a moment, nearly missing tidbits of the conversation.  
“Probably ran into one of the storms devastating the isles,” Anton shrugs off his coat and hands it to one of the attendants. He appears even smaller without it. “Let’s hope the outsider still has plans for him.”  
The Royal Physician, the man they were discussing, was Kirin Jindosh.  
You knew of him, of course. You had applied to be his pupil but his roster was full for the next few years. He had sent only a couple of letters to you. The first was the failed acceptance letter stating the unfortunate reasoning behind the denial. Then the second came a week later and lacked the fancy golden press on the envelope. This one was hand written and he had stated, in so many words, that he had convinced Anton Sokolov to accept you based on your resume and application.  
You had nearly combusted.  
To be taught by the current Royal Physician was one thing but to be tutored by Anton Sokolov—the Anton Sokolov!—was a different thing entirely. Your initial disappointment in not being a pupil of Jindosh’s was instantly replaced with complete joy and astonishment. Shortly after you had accepted the proposition, you had fallen out of correspondence with Jindosh and had been put into contact with Sokolov. It was like a dream to talk back and forth with Anton Sokolov, a revolutionary mind across the isles. Your first letter to him had been, essentially, fan mail. He was quick to discourage that, however, and was incredibly informal to you. In one particular letter he had said “if you call me your hero I might vomit.”  
Mathew and Sokolov don’t bother giving you a tour of any sort. They are deep in discussion and you are equally invested in their topic. Mathew, evidently, was working on a motor carriage that one could operate manually. He was very proud of the concept—an original one—and Anton was digging into the boy, asking for the nitty-gritty details. Mathew answered his questions with enthusiasm and confidence which Sokolov greeted with more questions. You felt a knot form in your stomach; you’d be dealing with Sokolov’s intense interrogations as well.  
The three of you are heading east through the castle, led by Sokolov. The castle seemed to break off at its side to another building joined to it. This was the research facility, you realized. It was still fairly new.  
Anton gets a little ahead of you and Mathew, giving you time to ask, “Is he always so hyper critical? What am I in for here?”  
Mathew gives you a wry grin and chuckles under his breath. “Oh, yea. But he’s still not nearly as bad as Mr. Jindosh. You dodged a bullet there. I’m honestly so jealous of you! It’s been fantastic working under Sokolov these last few weeks. But, I suppose, I’ll be just as happy to get Jindosh back. He’s better to bounce ideas off of.”  
The facility is four floors high. The first floor is a workshop area—mostly mechanics and engineering. The room is nearly sixty feet wide, but twenty feet on both sides have been dedicated to studios and personal work areas blocked off by cubical walls. The long hall consists of several tables set up vertically to the entrance with two or three students using five or so at once. They hardly pay you any attention but greet Sokolov with a nod as he leads you through. An elevator is against the far wall, completely opposite of the entrance. There are two stair cases on either side, but Sokolov chooses to use the lift. The five of you—Sokolov, Mathew, the two attendants, and yourself—huddle into the interior. You end up pressed against the doors, a little claustrophobic. Anton selects the fourth floor and the elevator begins to rise with a hint of difficulty.  
Through the metal bars, you catch a glimpse of the second and third floor. The second floor is another sort of laboratory that hosted only one student. They were examining a cadaver on an operating table and glanced up in curiosity as the lift puttered upward.  
The third floor was a laboratory that was far more advanced than the two below it. You couldn’t see it all so quickly, but the pieces of machinery on the tables were incredibly complex looking. The lab was only have as long as the others, a wall with a door split it in the middle, leading to another room.  
Then the fourth floor finally came into view. It was similar to the one below with the floor being halved between two separate rooms.  
“This is my studio space,” said Anton as the doors opened. “You’ll come up here for your lessons. As you can see, this isn’t the only work station in the facility so feel free to make use of others as you see fit. However, for the ease of critiquing you, I would like you to keep your primary assignments up here so that I can review them in my free time.” He pointed to the door, “That is my bedroom and my office. I’ve got a wide collection of novels and guides in my library. You are welcome to come in and out as you see fit, but please don’t wake an old man from his naps.”  
You nod, trying to both convey your excitement and appear professional. “This is fantastic, Mr. Sokolov.”  
“Eh,” Sokolov shrugs, “I’ve had better. I’ve had worse. Empress Emily as more than kind when she gave us this facility. Said she’d name it after me when I passed.” He laughed then coughed. “I’m sure Kirin will get a kick out of that.”  
“Are we starting today?” you asked, eagerly looking around at all the equipment and the workstation full of organized materials.  
Anton scoffed, “Fuck’s sake! No! I’m too tired. I’m an early riser now. Didn’t used to be, back in the day. But no. You’ll meet me here tomorrow at sunrise and we’ll start with your first lesson.”  
Though a little disappointed, you nodded in confirmation and calmed your eagerness.  
Mathew piped up, “You should be relieved. Once the work load starts, it never seems to end. Sokolov, should I show them to their room?”  
“Yes, yes,” Sokolov waves dismissively at the two of you. “Don’t be late tomorrow. At sunrise!”  
Mathew and the two attendants take the elevator down with you. “He means 6am,” says Mathew with a smile. “Never gets easier.”  
\--  
The living area consisted of a building just behind the facility. It was much smaller and still—evidently—under construction. Several bricks were missing from the walking path between the new building and the facility, a pile of them had been abandoned when the weather started. Other than this, the building seemed like it was inhabitable. It only consisted of ten rooms with five on the bottom floor and five on the top. The bottom floor hosted the kitchen area and laundry room, while the top floor had a reading and study space. Mathew guided you to the up the stairs and gestured to a room near the end, facing the sea.  
“That one’s open and so is,” he pointed to the one across from it, “that one. Take your pick.”  
“Is there a window facing the ocean?” you inquired. Where you had lived before, in the crowded streets, the ocean was just a sound on the wind and a glimpsed wonder between commutes.  
The room was white, like the castle itself, and square-shaped. A twin-sized bed sat against the far left wall, next to the window facing the sea. There was a desk across from the bed and a couple of bookshelves next to it. A dresser sat near the door.  
Mathew left shortly after you moved into the room, giving you space to unpack and settle in. He invited you to come back to the facility in an hour or so to give you an actual tour. You spent that hour unpacking as much as you could, though you were too excited about exploring the workshops to really think about where you were putting things. Eventually, you gave up entirely as you were unpacking a stack of books onto your desk. They could wait.  
Changing out of your wet clothes and fetching your umbrella, you practically pranced along the freshly laid bricks, careful not to step into one of the holes. Where should you start first? You’d worked in a mechanical workshop before but never with such new and interesting tools. But, on the other hand, you had never gotten the opportunity to work with a cadaver! Er, but maybe you’d need some supervision and training beforehand. Sokolov’s library was incredibly tempting, yes, but he didn’t want to be disturbed from his lap, so that would have to wait until later.  
You decided, as you entered the facility, that you would leave it to up to Mathew to decide.  
The quiet tinkering sound from before was now replaced with excited conversation on the other end of the long room. A group of students—including the one who had been working on second floor earlier, were huddled around the entrance. Feeling immediately left out, you awkwardly make your way over and stand beside the huddle, trying to get a peek at what they were talking about or looking at. Mathew spots you in the commotion and flashes a bright grin, grabbing for your hand.  
“Come here!” he says, “Introduce yourself while I go get Anton!”  
He gives up his spot in the huddle to you, pushing you forward as he runs toward the elevator. The group of students part as you stumble forward, losing your footing. A hand lands on your shoulder, steading you instantly.  
Looking up, you see a man completely drenched in rain. His black hair was at one point swept back but is now dripping and becoming unruly. His eyes are a strange, pale green and they stare down at you with such raw intensity that the huddle of people around you seem to dissipate into the void—becoming at once irrelevant.  
“I haven’t seen you before,” he says, “You must be Sokolov’s new pupil.”  
He says your name and removes the hand from your shoulder, extending it instead for a handshake. “It’s good to meet you in person. I’m sure you don’t quite realize who I am.”  
“Kirin Jindosh,” you say, or rather, mumble into the open air. The Royal Physician.  
You are not as astounded by meeting Jindosh as you were when you first met Sokolov. But, nevertheless, this man was the head of the Academy of Natural Philosophy and he was, indeed, a visionary and a genius far beyond his time. And he was, yes, extending his hand to you and you had ignored it for several seconds now.  
Too quickly, perhaps, you slap your hand against his and shake it with such nervous fervor that it startles the philosopher to causes him to laugh. There’s a twinkle in his eye as he pulls his hand back. “I’m afraid this isn’t the best of introductions. I’m much more comfortable chatting over the dissection table.”  
The group of students chuckle at that and a couple of them offer to take Jindosh’s sopping wet jacket and luggage.  
You realize, abruptly, that you have said nothing back to him. And you lose your chance to as the elevator dings and Sokolov, wearing his night wear, enters the workshop.  
He raises a fist in the air, waving it as he says, “Dammit Kirin! A month! You said it would take a month! Did I ever take a sabbatical when I tutored you? Did I ever disappear for nearly a month and a half? I should say not. Absolutely outrageous is what it is; it was your choice to take on so many pupils at once then you went and pawned them all off on me for six weeks!”  
You blanch at his ranting, but Jindosh merely spreads his arms out as if awaiting an embrace. “Anton, come now. Despite what some might think, I can’t control the weather. And I distinctly remember several occasions during our tutelage where you canceled our lessons due to an extreme morning hang over.”  
Anton stops before Jindosh with a severe glint in his eyes. His face is contorted into a grimace and his hands are still balled into fists. Everyone is quiet.  
Then, softly at first, his face melts into a smile and he begins to laugh, stepping forward to accept Jindosh’s offered embrace. He gives the younger man several hearty pats on the back before saying, “Thought the tide swallowed you up, my boy. What a loss that would have been.” The rest of the students seem to collectively sigh with relief before going back to their work tables. You and Mathew stay standing.  
“Certainly,” says Jindosh. He then looks back at you. “I’ve met your new apprentice. As you both know, I reviewed their application myself and debated for some time whether or not I should take on an additional student despite the Academy’s recommendations. I’m glad we figured something out; I was outright impressed by your resume. Self-taught individuals are few and far between nowadays.” Here, he gestures toward himself, “Though, in my humble opinion, we are far superior to an educated individual.”  
He’s charming, you think. A little full of himself, yes, but deserving of his self-praise. He gives you a little wink to let you know he’s not being entirely serious and says, “My office is on the third floor. If Anton takes one of his old-man-naps, feel free to come to me for assistance. Most of my pupils are already knee deep in projects that they don’t constantly need my supervision for. Besides,” he pushes his dripping hair out of his face, “tutoring untouched minds is so much more interesting.”  
\--  
Note: Mathew will NOT be in this story that much. If I hate anything about self-insert fanfics, it’s usually a supporting character thrown in as the ‘friend’ of the protag. It’s just distracting.  
Also, as you can tell, Kirin is not the Kirin from the main universe! Here, he’s been taught by Sokolov and practically raised by Sokolov since he was sixteen. The incident at the academy never happened. This means that Kirin is significantly nicer but he’s still a gremlin. I look forward to writing this change of character.


	2. Chapter 2

“I retired from the Academy years ago,” said Sokolov as he slowly weaves between work benches. “Kirin taught there for a short period of time before they offered to make him Head of the Academy. It’s a boring job, truly; he said that perhaps it would have been bearable if he hadn’t taught before taking the position. You don’t get to work with your hands as much when you’re the Head of the Academy, which I think is why Kirin was so eager to accept Emily’s offer to become Royal Physician. He prefers it, I think. And he’s damn good at it.”  
You follow him, juggling the seven books he had handed you during his personal library tour. You’re only half paying attention to his stories, too busy soaking in the vast array of blue prints, tools, and prototypes lined neatly along the window wall. His bedroom had been full of plants, some of which you had never seen before, and you had had to bite your tongue not interrupt him halfway through a story to ask if they were from Pandyssia.   
He allows for a brief pause as he begins opening drawers and pulling out instruction manuals and you take this opportunity to contribute at least something to the conversation. “So, you stopped taking students but Jindosh has several all of his own. Why did he take on so many?”  
Sokolov offers you a crooked smile, a young glint in his gray eyes. “Still upset that he couldn’t teach you?”  
“No!” You say, too loud. “No, I just . . . never mind. Would you say that this private education is better than what the Academy offers?”  
Sokolov scoffs and it lacks tenderness. “Would I say that? Of course not. The Academy is funded not only by the crown, but by countless sniveling aristocrats all across the isles. We’re more than lucky to have Emily’s support, of course, but it’s just not the same. When I worked at the Academy, I could request funding and the board would approve it within a day. Here, I request funding and it must go through Emily’s personal council and her advisors before—and if—it even reaches her desk. But none of that matters, in the long run. The point of this place is to offer an education to those the Academy might not have accepted otherwise due to their class standing or their lack of experience. Kirin doesn’t see it that way, but I do.”   
“Is that so?” You set the books down at a spare work bench while he’s not looking.   
He turns around just as you’re about to follow up on his last statement and waves a wrinkled hand for you to sit down. “That spot will do just fine, I suppose. As good as any. You’ll also be assigned a spot downstairs to do your personal work. You might not think you’ll need two spaces, but that typically changes within a week or so. To start, I want you to take this little test which will reveal to me how much you know and what I’ll need to teach you. You worked as a mechanic before this and you said you repaired arc pylons, walls of light, and were even in the process of reconstructing a tall boy, hm?” He grows a little somber at the last mention, and smoothly transitions to, “I don’t want to make you anxious, but if you don’t show a complete comprehension of the basics within the first month, I’ll have to send you back home. We can’t just accept novices.”   
Your stomach turns into an icy pit and Anton seems to immediately regret his tone. A soft hand pats your shoulder and he smiles affectionately. “Don’t worry, my dear. Be confident in your abilities. It’s merely required of me to caution you. Now, you can take the test and do it in your personal time. But I will need it back by tomorrow morning.”   
You open the paper cover of the booklet and are surprised to see that he has gone through the trouble of hand writing the questions within this one and, likely, numerous others. The handwriting looks neater than in his correspondence letters; perhaps his hands have grown shaky with old age. Either way, you begin to skim through the questions—.   
“Put that away for now,” Sokolov instructs from behind you. “Don’t forget about it, of course, but put it away. We’ve got to get started and we can’t waste any time.”   
A hand comes over your shoulder to set down what looks like—from your vague recollection—a circuit board from . . . an arc pylon? Or a wall of light. Their circuitry shared many similarities in composition but you knew better than to use them interchangeably. This particular green, metallic slab was obviously damaged.   
With his other hand, Sokolov lays out a bundle of leather which he rolls out onto the wooden work bench. Inside are a number of tools including a pair of tweezers, a small precision knife, and a complete array of soldering equipment.  
“I need you to remove and replace all the damaged sections of the circuit trace.” This suspiciously simple demand was followed up with absolutely zero additional information. In fact, the old man was halfway to his private quarters before he even finished the sentence. He’s shockingly faster than you remember him being.   
“W-Wait what’s this for—?” You begin to ask, but Sokolov is already dismissing you with a wave of his hand.   
“Never mind that. Just see what you can do. I’ll be back in an hour or so.”   
An hour? Ah, so this was a timed trial, in a way. He wanted to see how quickly you could work under pressure, eh? You smirk down at the piece of flimsy green circuitry and reach for the precision knife. This might just be an excellent opportunity for you to prove yourself.   
\--  
The hour passed by ridiculously fast and you, being determined to repair all the damage in that short amount of time, had made a bit of a sloppy mess of the soldering. Nothing looked amiss on the surface but you were a little unsure whether or not the board could be considered functioning or not. That didn’t concern you too much, though. This piece was in some scrap drawer before Sokolov plucked it out; repairing a circuit trace normally took you at least two to three hours to perfectly repair and make functional. But that wasn’t the point of this little test, you were sure. Why else would he say “see what you can do” then give you a small window of time?   
Confidently, you finish the last trace and look down at the piece with a grin. It looked much better than when he gave it to you; you’d removed the old soldering while pulling up the previous trace and had placed the new circuits in fine, even lines. You could frame it on the wall, it looked so aesthetically pleasing. Below the pale green protection of the rubber coating, you knew the soldering of the copper wires was shoddy at best. But this piece of scrap had seen its day and had since been retired.   
As you let the soldering tool cool down and pack up the rest of the equipment, you are alerted by the sound of the elevator moving—‘ding!’  
The dial above the cage tells you that someone is coming from the third floor to the fourth. Before you have the time to quickly make your work bench neat and organized, Kirin Jindosh slips through the elevator doors and into the lab.   
He pauses there, almost for theatrical reasons, and glances about the room. Pointedly, he ignores your presence and narrows his pale eyes in scrutiny. “Is that old man taking his nap already? These are prime hours for him.” He almost seemed to speak to thin air. Or to himself.   
You don’t know what to say. There’s some sort of lump lodged in your throat but you don’t swallow for fear of bringing attention to yourself. Instead, you remain incredibly still and wait for his next move.   
A jolt of adrenaline runs through you as his gaze fixates firmly onto yours and he raises an eyebrow. “Did I mumble?”   
It occurs to you that your mouth was somewhat ajar the entire time; you realize this when you go to speak but you end up coughing through your first words.   
“No, er. No, he’s in his quarters. He said he’d be out in about an hour.”   
Jindosh started moving the instant you spoke. You thought he might be going to fetch the older gentleman, but to your incredible dismay he began to make a beeline right to you.   
When he moves, he does so with such precision and purpose that one might think that he were built like his clockwork soldiers—programed to know how to mimic human motion but lacking the clumsy inelegance. He stops in front of your work bench abruptly and stares down at you almost . . . expectantly? It’s hard to read his face when you’re so stunned by how tall he is.   
Jindosh raises a brow and for the second time since you’d met him, you become increasingly aware of your silence.   
“Is there . . . something I can do for you, Mr. Jindosh?”  
His expression freezes as he processes this request, then a relieving smirk graces his slender face. He’s not quite like he was yesterday when he’d arrived. Then again, perhaps he had been boasting for a crowd. Here, there is only the two of you and he has dialed back the act.   
“Sokolov called for me,” he explained. “I was to meet with him.”   
His words drift into oblivion as he gently reaches down to pluck up the circuit board you’d been repairing. White noise buzzed in your ears as Kirin Jindosh—as the Royal Physician—examined your handiwork. It had been easy to find pride in your work before his eerily pale gaze had settled upon it. Anxiety began to creep up on you faster than you could say, “Sokolov wanted me to repair it. The circuit traces were—,”   
“You’ve done a shit job,” he states.   
A bird chirps just outside the window, piercingly loud. You become aware of gravity’s influence as you shrink into yourself—feeling both incredibly heavy and empty somehow at once.   
He flips it over and over, bringing it closer to his face to examine it better. But his expression of tedium remains firmly affixed.   
Jindosh lowers the piece to look you in the eyes and though the moment only lasts briefly, you’re certain he has seen right through you.   
And he has found you inadequate.   
It is at this time that Anton Sokolov opens the door to the lab and toddles his way into the workspace. When he sees Jindosh, he grins and says, “You’re early! What a surprise.” He approaches the two of you and glances curiously between the expressions he sees before him. Jindosh’s has completely altered. Now, he is sporting a look of amusement at the way Sokolov’s thin white hair is sticking up in the back. Apparently he had, indeed, been resting.   
Your face, on the other hand, must have been a sight for sore eyes. Sokolov lingers on you for a second or so before he decides it’d be best to inquire about it at a later time. Instead, he shifts the attention to the circuit board Jindosh is still holding.   
“Oh!” he exclaims, reaching out for it. “Oh, my dear.”   
You can’t bring yourself to glance up from the workbench. There are several scuffs and cuts on the wood and you make yourself count them instead. If both the current Royal Physician and senior Royal Physician berated your work, you might just die here in your chair.  
But Sokolov lets out a very warm and kind laugh, forcing you to peer up at him. He’s not nearly as tall as Jindosh—closer to earth.   
“This is pretty good work. I can tell you took your allotted time to focus on making it look visually satisfactory. Of course, this piece isn’t in working order. Your soldering didn’t connect the copper together so it is useless from a functioning standpoint.”  
Blood rushes to your cheeks; you should have known that Anton Sokolov would have noticed and been looking for such details. You just thought . . . maybe because he was older now, he would have left it alone.  
Sokolov flips it around in his fidgeting hands and says, “Moving onward, I’ll know that you value design over mechanics and I’ll help you find a way to weld the two together.”  
Jindosh is still staring down at you. It is not a hateful gaze but it is still devoid of warmth. He had seemed so lively and charming the day before; this was downright anxiety inducing. Jindosh shakes his head, “Aesthetics are important, of course, but mechanics are the foundation. If you’d focused entirely on making this piece functional, I would be just as critical. A balance of artistry and functionality is something I expect my pupils to comprehend before they even begin their training.”   
You look to Sokolov almost pleadingly. He comes to your defense, “Now Kirin you’re being a too harsh again. I only allotted one hour for this project. And the result is far better than I could have anticipated.”   
Almost instantly, Jindosh’s hardened face seems to melt and he looks at you with humble embarrassment. His jaw seems to drop for a second before he collects himself and says, “I didn’t realize. F-for the time restrictions—well, of course it’s perfectly adequ—admirable, even . . . forgive my critical behavior. When I take on new students, I purposefully am severe as a means to push them to meet my standards.” He explains this while moving his hands in front of him, a habit he had likely made an effort to restrain when he was berating you earlier. It made him seem, at once, less mechanical in his origins.   
Sokolov sends you a bemused look as his colleague speaks and rotates around the table to put the piece of circuit back into the scrap drawer. “This isn’t your student, Kirin, but mine. That’s what we agreed to. I have no quarrels with your assistance in matters such as these but I feel the need to remind you—,”  
Jindosh makes a noise that makes you think of a young man being scolded by his father. “You needn’t lecture me, Anton. My attention to my own students is ever present. It’s just not every day that we accept someone who is self-taught. Need I remind you that it was my idea in the first place to revive you from your retirement for this particular scenario so that I might continue to focus on my students without overloading myself?”  
Sokolov places a hefty pat onto your shoulder and whispers loud enough for all to hear, “He took a liking to you right away. Had to talk him out of dismissing some of his ‘less engaging’ students to make room for you.”  
Your face is flushed again but with the good sort of embarrassment. You had had no idea your application was so impressive.   
Jindosh looks incredibly flustered and annoyed by Anton’s revelations, fixing the old man with a keen glare.   
To relieve him of his embarrassment, you ask, “Are there really so many students here who aren’t self-taught? I thought this was an alternative to the Academy where someone with only an above-average comprehension of engineering was acceptable?”   
Kirin and Anton watch you while you speak, then look up at one another with conflicting reactions. Silence falls heavily across the room and you worry that you’ve made tensions escalate instead of dissipate.   
Jindosh says in your generation direction, “Either you’re born an intellect or you pay to become one. Why should we consider the two equal?”  
Sokolov answers the question that you assumed rhetorical, “All rivers lead to the sea, Kirin. No one is born a genius; you reach that achievement by following a path that you make for yourself. You and I didn’t come into this world as intellectuals—we were determined to learn and we made that life for ourselves through hard work. Just as anyone can. Perhaps not to the same extent but—,”  
Jindosh places a flat palm against the work bench a little too harshly, shaking the equipment still left out. You jump a little in your skin but he seems not to notice. “If anyone can become an intellectual then everyone should be.”   
The elevator ‘dings!’ as it begins to move. You glance desperately to the doors, hoping for just about anyone—Matthew, the Empress, the Outsider—to interrupt this incredibly uncomfortable situation. Instead, an older gentleman somewhat near Jindosh’s age appears behind the metal doors. He is dressed oddly; not like a nobleman for his outfit is far too simplistic and lacks vibrant colors yet not like a commoner because of the silky sheen of the fabric and the shine to his black boots. There’s gray in his brown hair by the temples and his chin is covered in a light scruff. Never before have you seen such tired yet experienced eyes.   
Sokolov and Jindosh look startled to see this man. Sokolov eventually exclaims, “Corvo! I hardly expected to see you this morning. How are you, my boy?”  
“And what do you want, exactly?” Adds Kirin, though the jab is spirited.   
The Royal Protector, the Royal Physician, and the famed Anton Sokolov all in one room. It was as though you were dreaming, discreetly pinching your arm under the table to alleviate your disbelief. Meanwhile, Corvo steps further into the room to speak, clearing his throat. He seems and looks completely out of place in this environment.   
He says, “One of the Clockworks guarding the Western tower isn’t activating or responding to any sort of provocation. I was hoping you could come take a look at it. Well, I’m demanding it really. The Western tower is where the Empress’s chambers are located. I’d like to make sure it’s safeguarded.”  
Kirin sighs and gestures with exasperation. “This sort of thing is why you call upon one of the certified mechanics I meticulously trained for this very occasion.”   
Corvo shares a glance with Sokolov before a subtle smirk tugs at his mouth. “Apparently you weren’t too meticulous. They’re as confused as we are.”  
Jindosh brings a hand to his face to rub away the growing irritation. “What do you mea—fine. Fine, just let me go get my things. Sokolov, would you mind supervising my students in my brief absence.” He stresses the word ‘brief’ as he strides past the Royal Protector who smirks in response.   
Sokolov calls after them, “By all means! I ‘supervised’ them for a month and a half, Kirin. I might as well ‘supervise’ them some more. They’re practically my students now.”  
\--  
You decide to take your exam booklet to your room in order to complete it. There are people in the reading room upstairs when you arrive, arguing with each other over a shared Jindosh project. You try not to linger too long before unlocking your door and sliding inside. The room is shrouded in lazy afternoon light, smelling faintly of the sea breeze drifting through your open windows. You liked to leave them open so that you could hear the light crash of the waves at night and the breeze helped with the temperature in the small space.   
Sitting down at your desk, you pull out the booklet and open it to the first page. This time, you read all the questions thoroughly and are surprised by how simple they really are. You think back to the argument Anton and Jindosh were having earlier and it dawns on you just how strongly Sokolov believed in his side. These were exceedingly simple questions—almost insultingly so. He had said this place doesn’t accept “novices” yet these were questions you could have answered in your first year as a mechanic. The pride and prestige you had felt when you were accepted to this apprenticeship seemed to dull now as you wonder—is this just a hand-me-down Academy education?  
Mathew had indicated that Sokolov would be a hard mentor to please but…  
Your mind wanders to the study room just outside your door and to the complex piece of machinery Jindosh’s students had been assigned. Would you be working on something as challenging as that under Sokolov’s mentorship? You have no doubt that Sokolov himself is capable of teaching you advanced concepts; it is his intent that troubles you. Does he consider you a promising up and comer or are you just the proof of his point because you weren’t born a prodigy but chose to pursue such a status? Could one really just become a genius?   
Shaking these thoughts out of your head, you choose to remain positive. Anton Sokolov is never wrong, but perhaps just this once, he could be wrong about you.


End file.
